


Belief

by Missy



Category: Paul (2011)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gen, Humor, Religious Conflict, Religious Themes & References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that Ruth Buggs-Willy hated Christmas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belief

It wasn’t that Ruth Buggs-Willy hated Christmas. In fact, anyone who tasted her cooking – her massive amounts of buttery, fluffy, sugary, well-baked cooking – would come away believing that Christmas was her favorite holiday. Only her family noticed the difference in her behavior – the old skittishness, the shyness, and the weeklong commandeering of their country kitchen.

They all tried to help. Graeme ate to the point of bursting every sugary-sweet treat she made; Clive gave her odd looks askance but also stuffed himself happily with her food. Through the birth of two children, several switches of career and changes of address, it would be the same; normal, audacious, sweet-tempered Ruth all year round, and a withdrawn, upset Ruth at Christmas.

It was their daughters who noticed the difference. Finally, on their once-every-five-years visit from ‘Uncle Paul’ and ‘Aunt Tara’, it was Sarah Jane who tugged on Graeme’s sleeve. “I’m scared. Mommy’s not acting like the leader of a Galactic Horde anymore.”

“Yes, well,” Graeme began, shuffling his feet. “I think she needs to have a talk with your Uncle Paul.”

Graeme – who had never been as emotionally demonstrative as his wife – knew that Paul had a way of getting through to Ruth that was incomparable. He didn’t count on the amount of begging he’d have to do.

“The last time I tried to talk to her during a holiday, flour got into places no woman should ever see.” He smirked. “Even though I’ve tried to get them to.”

Graeme sighed. “Consider this a favor,” he declared. “I’ll smoke up with you next time you come to town.”

Paul sighed. “Graeme, those days are all over,” he replied, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry your balding head over it. I’ll try to talk the little lady out of her crippling seasonal depression.”

“I’ll get you twenty tubes of Smarties.”

“All right, deal.”

***

The door squeaked open, and Ruth barely looked up as Paul ambled through the door. “How are you feeling, Ruth? Don’t you wanna take a break?”

“I can’t,” she said, her voice tiny. “There’s gingerbread in the over, and then I have to start in on the Rice Krispie Treat house….”

“You know,” he said quietly, “I bet Graeme would help you with all of this if you’d ask.”

She shook her head. “Graeme’s playing with the girls; he works so hard writing all week, and the girls are always at school…”

“…And you’re in here avoiding a big family scene,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “And Tara and you – you need time together. I’ll come out later in the afternoon.”

“Sweetheart,” Paul tentatively said,

Ruth paused with her face to the oven, her shoulders dipping down in defeat. Paul worried that he’d made her cry, but after a moment, she spoke up. “It doesn’t bother me most of the time. It’s just the way Christmas…it brings me down, every year.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Knowing there’s no Jesus.”

The sad tone Ruth’s voice had undertaken immediately made Paul cringe. “Heyy, who told you that?”

“You did.”

“I told you evolution was real, but I didn’t mention God.” he said, and that was when Ruth started crying. He placed an awkward hand on the back of her knee. “Hey, if it makes you feel better, I met Jesus. He’s a pretty cool guy,” Paul laughed. “Bad tipper, but let him loose at a party with some fish and wine and…” He cringed again. “I guess I’m not helping.”

“I used to love Christmas,” Ruth proclaimed. “Mom and I would spend hours baking together, listening to Christmas carols while we worked. Now that I know the truth I feel like I’ve lost her spirit.”

Paul put a friendly arm around her waist. “Hey, I’m just an alien with infinite knowledge of the universe and life-giving powers. What do I know, right? Maybe you have something there with the Holy Host and the stale bread.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s the point Ruth. There’s one thing I don’t know – what happens when you finally shuffle off that mortal Hushpuppy. Maybe you’re right and there are angels watching out for us.” He shrugged. “Maybe God put a bunch of apes and mammoths out there and said ‘here, wrestle’. But the most important thing is to live for the living. And eat the dead.”

Ruth gave him a wan smile. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“How much I’m missing out on when I shut myself up in here. I should be making my own traditions instead of hogging them all for myself.”

“I didn’t even have to use hieroglyphics,” he replied patronizingly.

She laughed and flicked her flour-dusted apron at him.

***

And the next morning, Paul came down to a kitchen filled with activity, and the sound of a mother and her daughters baking together for the first time.


End file.
